Tag: dating

It was a sign of weakness to complain about your problems, the fact that you weren’t doing well reflected poorly on you. That was the long, dreary shadow of failure and Amalia dreaded seeing Adam exactly because she feared he would see right through the paper-thin façade she had so cleverly crafted. But meeting him the previous day settled her competitive spirit – his façade was even more transparent than hers, disintegrating that hyperbolic mirage generated by imagination when you interrupt all connections with a person, when you refuse to inquire about them, but once in a while you still think of them as a landmark, a relevant moment of your existence.

Amalia’s rage triggered tirade against Robert was a flood of mixed ideas and furious regrets about the one she had considered a friend, yet who showed no compassion when she needed it from him. He was taken aback both by his reaction to her initial sadness and by her violent response, although the moment the room became silent, he began to perceive the magnitude of what had just happened. For the first time ever, he raised his voice at her, a thing that was so common when dealing with his wife; never had he thought of reacting that way towards Amalia. And never before had she managed or even tried to reduce him to nothing in a matter of seconds.

Instinctive and impulsive as her reaction may have been, it was the right one in relation to a man who devoured women if they proved to be weaker than he was, belittling and controlling them, the same way he had always done in his wife’s case. The shift in what Robert meant to Amalia happened in an imperceptible instant – it was no longer a rapport based on reciprocity and equality, on mutual understanding, acceptance and respect. It was now a matter of dominance.

“No, I’m not the one to talk…” His discrete admission of guilt in the deafening silence established her victory – victory she neither needed, nor looked for, an exhausting and saddening victory which was no more than yet another loss, when what she needed was a friendly face, some understanding and comfort, even if only for a few minutes.

“No, you’re not. But I am the one to leave. And next time you need someone to deal with your neurosis, inferiority complex and endless emotional and material failures, try your wife or your conceited friends; or even the hobo on the street, because I am no longer available to you for anything of the sort.” If he wanted her cold, Amalia knew she was perfectly able to freeze him out, although it pained her to do so after all those years and all they shared.

Victor was quiet that night; and when he was watching her reflection in the mirror while she was slowly removing her makeup and brushing her hair – the way he had done every evening after her arrival – he looked old. With the odd angle and the cruel light accentuating his dark circles, he appeared the image of a man in mourning. And after all, wasn’t he? Was he not facing the need of accepting that another piece of the mirage he had created in his mind had died that evening?

Amalia looked at him, wishing he would fool around the way he had done the previous days, playing with her makeup, asking advice about a new haircut, inevitably stopping to hug and kiss her, or just lean his head on her shoulder, standing behind her, greedily looking at the reflected image of the two of them. We do look good together, don’t we? Of course we do, he would say, falling prey to the same vanity that often controlled Amalia.

“I think I would’ve been a lot like you, had I been born in different times. I envy the freedom you, young women, have these days. Back then, I was among the lucky few, I was allowed an education, my family was supportive of it, and I was also blessed with a kind, intelligent and hardworking husband. And now it’s too late to change; besides, I like the way it turned out for me. In a way some things were better, more straightforward then – women were women and men were men, they each had their roles and everybody knew where they stood. You have it so great and so rough these days… you basically need to be perfect from so many points of view, you need to cover so many areas in order to be accomplished women. That’s what I really envy about you, not only your freedom, but the fact that you’ve managed to cover so many aspects already, to stand on your own, to do and experience so many things all by yourself. You see, I could never manage without my family, the same way they couldn’t manage without me.”

“I want someone to laugh with me, someone to be grave with me, someone to please me and help my discrimination with his or her own remark, and at times, no doubt, to admire my acuteness and penetration.”

Robert Burns

Sometimes, it’s “Swan Lake” and dinner at a nice, romantic restaurant… sometimes, it’s beautiful red roses and phone calls, because everyday life doesn’t take a break for special occasions… and other times, it’s nothing but disappointment and frustration. Like many other socially branded times of celebration, the controversial Valentine’s Day will do that to us. Or… really… let’s be honest… we do that to ourselves.

It may not be my favourite holiday, but I’ve made peace with Valentine’s Day many years ago. Call me jaded, call me old, but I couldn’t have a meltdown because of it, even if I tried. And that’s mostly because I am who I am, I like what I like, and I honestly don’t care if those around me approve of it or not. I no longer try to adjust my expectations in order to fit their needs, nor do I feel guilty when I’m labelled as “spoilt” just because I want to be treated in a certain way. I get to choose who is close to me. We all do. We all should. Part of this choice is being aware that there are persons willing to offer me what I want, people who wish to make me feel special… people for whom I want to do the same.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again many times – celebrating a loved one, a relationship, showing them how important they are, can be so fulfilling. Perhaps some people are able to do that each and every day. Personally, I often drown in everyday nonsense and I generally need those pre-set occasions to shake everything up. I like thinking ahead, I look forward to birthdays, anniversaries and holidays and I have great fun getting and preparing all sorts of things for the ones I love, even months before any of these occasions. I once had two years’ worth of gifts for my mother, that should say it all. That’s also part of who I am, together with my expectations.

Yes, I like flowers – no heart shaped knickknacks, no cutsy teddy bears or other plush toys, no, thank you. It’s not that I need someone to buy them for me; I don’t mind getting them myself, if I need some cheering up. But I want somebody who cares enough to offer me flowers, just to make me smile, just because that’s what I like, and that’s important to them, even when it might not be their favourite activity. It’s about being offered what I want, not what somebody thinks I should want. I’ve learnt that such people exist. I’ve learnt that I’m also willing to compromise and make these people happy. These are the persons I want in my life, not the ones I need to change, not the ones who want to change me. They are the ones I think of when it comes to celebrating love.

Undeniably, I like the romantic side of the holiday. There’s something so adorable about watching a man get all dressed up for a date with me (even after being together for years), struggling to pick the right tie, the same way I struggle with choosing the perfect shoes. It’s fun to see him happy and elegant, impatiently waiting for a compliment, inevitably choosing to wear one of the ties and the cologne I gave him on some previous occasion. I know that at some point, he’s going to move his wrist just to make me notice he’s wearing my favourite watch as well. All these are small, irrelevant matters in the grand scheme of things. Yet it’s small, happy, fun moments together that make up the good part of life, the one that keeps one going through all the murky, unbearable times.

But this scenario is not always an option, and it’s nobody’s fault. It’s also not the end of the world when it doesn’t happen. As I’m listening to Bon Jovi, enjoying the red roses I received earlier and the delicious pralines I offered myself (first and foremost, I love myself), I’m thinking that a nice dose of realism is absolutely necessary on Valentine’s Day. A date on Valentine’s Day doesn’t guarantee love, nor does it reflect a person’s worth. Knowing what we need from others and from ourselves, seeing the value of who we are, celebrating it and those we love (be they a partner, a friend, a relative, the self) might be more important.

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! Find a little something that gives you pleasure and treat yourselves to it… or share it with somebody important to you.

Meaningless, harmless flirting was a long forgotten pleasure for Amalia, she had become so used to being aggressive with the men she wanted; and the men she wanted were normally guys who went straight for what they desired. The game, the chase were greatly appreciated stages in her flirting scheme and even in relationships, but nobody pretended to be innocent, nor was there ever a word uttered without a double meaning. That was exactly what she liked, she desired exactly the type of man who could engage in such a dance with her. Yet Amalia couldn’t deny the appeal of Victor’s way, he was reminiscent of a time in her life when she still had hope and she could still believe in the beauty of simple things, so she decided not to even try to resist him and his ways. The time spent with him would be a holiday from herself.

Amalia was not a believer in love at first sight; however, lust at first sight was a completely different matter, she quickly remembered. And the young man sitting next to her friend’s old lover clearly shared her conviction from the very first moment they lay eyes on each other. Continue reading “Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 97”

In her own way, Amalia was aware of the role she was playing, of how much she was altering his perceptions and convictions about life and women; such a project was a relaxing distraction not only from the serious routine of her existence, but also from the man she was trying to forget. Looking at Paul lying on her bed, Amalia felt a strange kind of pity – there was a man looking to be taught all there was to know about sex and freedom, there he was, in the same spot where she could still picture the silhouette of the man willing to share with Amalia all that he knew and had experienced regarding sex, lust and infatuation. In the blink of an eye, the images juxtaposed and situations merged: a man so willing to renounce control in her favour and another man struggling to maintain his fair share of domination.

For a second, the woman felt she didn’t really want either one of them.

“The fact that you cannot get everything from one person alone. If and when you think you might, it’s no more than an ephemeral mirage that leaves you empty, disappointed and disoriented as soon as it disappears. And how exactly does one manage to constantly find something more intense than the previous experience? The next thrill always needs to be somewhat more intense, somehow different and better than the one before it, otherwise the frustration is what increases and not the relief, the forgetfulness… But you don’t need any of that, do you? You find solace in simple things and even if I normally despise that, I guess I’m a bit jealous too – everything is so much simpler, your sort of happiness is so much easier to reach, isn’t it?”Continue reading “Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 95”

We skipped straight to a dish session – our patented way of diffusing dark, heavy conversations about to explode into a fight. The usual, who’s married, who’s dating, who’s getting divorced…. who’s married, and dating, and about to get divorced… But I didn’t really have any juicy gossip, and apparently neither did she, so our conversation was risking to dangerously slip back to the previous pattern.

“Sad? How is it sad when that’s the only promise of improvement? It’s not sad to stand as proud and unflinching when you’re raw and exposed as you do when you’re on the peak of glamour, gathering shallow praises from those around, from all of those who can only perceive obvious or staged beauty. There, look at that tree, the little one between the two dark ones, it’s already on the right track, with its daring pink flower buds starting to bloom before the leaves have any chance to show up.” Continue reading “Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 94”

The cold wind freezing her face and messing up her hair kept her alert, it was a different sort of awakening. She could see and find joy in all the little things around her for a moment, without any sadness or regrets from her real life and her real self creeping into this still world of simplicity and happiness. The early spring day was sunny and calm, their boat, together with a few others scattered on the surface of the river were the only one disrupting the quiet afternoon, scaring away a few of the birds that remained there over the winter or had already managed to find their way back as soon as the snow disappeared.

Half an hour later, approaching their final destination, Amalia started to feel excited about the day’s outing. The early spring and the cold sun were irresistible, that time of year and that kind of weather always had a cheerful impact on her. That was when all the bad things seemed less threatening, all issues seemed to have a solution, and a positive outcome for all endeavours became a sure thing for a few moments. Like a pretty, irresistible, spoiled child, Amalia put down the car window, wiggling her manicured fingers in the cool breeze as the car sped down the road. Adam started laughing at her childish reaction; it was a warm, sincere and caring laughter, nothing like his usual attitude.

“Behave yourself, woman! You’ll soon feel the breeze in your hair, you’ll feel nothing but that,” but she was still fooling around, giggling as the wind touched her face.

They were both laughing, enjoying each other’s banter and the closeness into which they sank deeper and deeper, while Amalia was amusing herself, composing a sensual message for a woman with whom the man next to her occasionally had sex. Such behaviour was what described the two of them together. Having met while he was on a date, he had first asked her out while she was on a date. They had first flirted openly while they both had the people they were dating at the time next to them, such a context heightening the thrill of the forbidden; and she had first accepted their attraction as an undeniable fact while he was again on a date, but trying to seduce Amalia and she had her own suitor trying to make himself noticed. The presence of others and their desire, frustration and occasional suffering were the catalyst for their own special breed of connection.

“There! All done, see how you like it.”

“Perfection! All it needs is for me to click ‘send’. You are a bit too good at this,” Adam sneered, putting his phone aside and pulling her close, so he could kiss her and feel her warmth.

It was the beginning of a pattern, dance steps the two of them would keep executing gracefully and carefully from then on, for as long as they would have any sort of connection. Their minds and souls, but most importantly, their personalities were similar in so many ways, that they instantly went from no connection whatsoever to a deep, cleansing type of confidence, endless nights spent together in her kitchen, sipping brandy or wine, him smoking relentlessly, her not minding the habit that she found so disgusting when embraced by other people. But the two of them had been above all others from the very beginning, entitled, arrogant and selfish, yet so deeply connected, appreciating each other not in spite of, but exactly for such features displayed honestly, a cold, brutal and egotistic sincerity having been integrant part of what brought them together.

Amalia covered his mouth with her lips again, smothering words she refused to hear, feelings that she had deemed as fake even before they had a chance to be uttered or perceived, an aberration of nature and logic in her mind. We’re all about sex, why do you need this make-believe? Why act as though you need to trick me into something I obviously want to do willingly?

The rest of the night would become one of her fondest memories, one of the deepest expressions of forgetfulness and ecstasy, self-discovery and renewal. The moment Adam gently sat her down on the bed, endeavouring in taking off each piece of her clothing with sensual touches and kisses was the instant Amalia transcended to a different dimension, one where she could share both happiness and control with the man touching her. Nothing mattered. Not his past, not her present, not their future. Their bodies knew just one moment in time, when nothing else existed, and that moment was theirs alone.

One dull November evening, Amalia kissed him. Without any warning, without having planned it, without even knowing for sure what she wanted, one evening she stopped thinking, she just reacted. He was bringing her home after a night out with friends, he had stopped in front of her building, but she didn’t get out of the car, waiting for him to finish his sentence. The moment his voice died out, Amalia turned her head towards him, she was thinking of telling him goodnight, but then she saw him, the way he was looking her right in the eyes, half smiling, polite, but clearly ardent, uninhibited, unafraid. That’s when she realised the only thing she could do was place her right hand on the back of his neck and just kiss him, while his arm was already pulling her close to him. She had no idea about it, but she was half smiling too; as she was getting out of the car, a glimpse of her face in the side mirror reflected an expression very similar to his.

The sensation of that dreary November night would follow her like a sweet ghost for a long time afterwards – a dear friend she thought so fondly about, wondering at times whether she would ever forget it or manage to overcome it. That kiss had changed something, an undeniable fact that couldn’t be overlooked and Amalia was aware of it, but also somewhat indifferent to it. I can find a parking space… You could invite me upstairs… The woman shifted on the comfortable sofa, still looking at the flowers and smiling at the not so distant memory of little things.

November was different. November was difficult. November was lonely. And November was Adam. From the very beginning, the twice divorced, arrogant, intriguing and highly annoying man triggered a very instinctive defence mechanism, possibly without either one of them being aware of it. He was wrong for her, that was her initial instinct, one she didn’t doubt. Then, as she got to know him better, she realised they were actually wrong for each other; and then, in November, he told her that exactly because they were so wrong for each other, exactly because it seemed such a bad idea, the two of them together would probably be such a great fit, such an opportunity for happiness. Yes, we would most likely destroy each other, but think about how great we’d be together, how happy we would be until then. And maybe we can be clever enough to get out of it just in time. If anybody could, that would certainly be us.

A car drove past them, heading the other way, the driver’s side close enough to her so she could see the driver quite well. Just a man in the car, the driver by himself, and Amalia’s heart was racing, although she stopped breathing for a few seconds, almost unaware that she was looking back, her head turned for several moments, until the dark car disappeared in the pink morning light.

*

“Did you have a nice weekend? Relaxing? Fun?”

“I did, yes… all of the above. How about you?”

“Oh… so did I… Can’t complain, I kept busy.”

Their shrewd smiles were the same and none of them could penetrate the thoughts behind the other’s eyes. They had noticed one another on the quiet road, in the pink morning light, heading their opposite ways, but none of them was going to give in and ask anything. Lives go on serenely and separately, as they always do.

“You get used to one woman, you get used to not even thinking or wanting others and all of the sudden you realize that was something you didn’t really choose to do, you just followed the steps you had been told time and time again that you need to take, because that’s what life is. You find a woman, a good woman, you love her if possible, she definitely loves you, you get married, have children, you provide for them while she takes care of them and there you have it: life.”

“Is that not what you want anymore?”

“Sure it is, I wouldn’t give that up for the world, but what about the rest? That’s not all there is too life, I tried to talk myself into believing that, but…”

The brisk air and the slight noise the motion of the waves propagated in the winter night impressed their awakening effect on the senses, making urges grow stronger, feelings and thoughts becoming almost palpable in the shallow obscurity of the seashore. Possibilities and desires are the only relevant matters at such a time, especially if one manages to overcome doubts and anxiety. Amalia finally felt like she could breathe the salty air and appreciate the company of the man next to her, tearing herself apart from all comparisons, from past and future, from her own judgemental ideas, values and expectations, and just let the course of events determine her state of mind. Some young women are all too aware of the futility of their charms and of the steep, degrading passage of time, so they find the strength and the ability to break apart from the world and simply enjoy the euphoria one experiences when a man they somewhat value becomes their sweet victim, even in such instances when feelings are not mutual.

Such different people, such different concepts, Amalia stopped to ponder. On the one hand, you have a woman who is loved for who she is by her somewhat limited husband, but nobody expects her to have a mind, a life or an identity of her own outside the family; and she herself has no desire for such things. On the other hand, you have the wife of an intelligent, successful, worldly man, who has all the freedom she desires as long as she maintains the appearance of the proper marriage, simply because her husband couldn’t care less about her, as she is merely a commodity. Neither one of these situations is one to be desired by a woman, Amalia thought, and the saddest part is that theirs are actually two of the better marriages as far as the treatment of women is concerned.

Mounds of snow on either side of the road were threatening to roll over the car and suffocate them in their walking sleep. We’re awake, but we’re sleepwalking, otherwise I would feel so much more… But the man carefully manipulating the vehicle on the frozen snow appeared to experience an entire array of emotions, anything but lethargy.

The metal vehicle felt like a pleasant, warm and protective cocoon, offering shelter from the snow building up on either side of the road. Their warm breaths and the slow movement of the car were the almost magic foundation for illusory closeness. The man was obviously happy and nervous with incredulous hopes for their future, full of secret desire to shape an alternative universe just for him and her. His struggle was obvious, pleasing and heart-warming, yet incapable to call forth any deeper sentiment or attraction as far as his companion was concerned.

There were still hidden corners to Robert’s personality, his ability to pleasantly surprise a woman not being one of those traits easily noticeable about him. However rarely it might happen, certain men can create a much more special context simply because of the fact they present a certain value as human beings; timing moments when small gestures can make a split second seem pleasantly endless being one or their rare gifts.

Being proven wrong after having underestimated such a man can be one of the sweetest defeats a young woman might experience.

Paul avoided looking her in the eyes, just staring at the rug in the middle of the room. All he could see of her were the bare feet, the bright red nail polish on her toe nails contrasting with her skin, making him completely unable to focus on anything else. Those bare feet made it all so private, so intimate, he had intruded upon a part of her life that he had no idea about; and all he wanted was to see more of it, to intrude even more, to see her running around her apartment in her bare feet and her freshly washed hair dripping on her shoulders, not the way he normally saw her, on her high heels, with a proper hairdo.

Then the conflict finally struck him: he came there exactly because of the perfect hairdo, the high heels and the nicely matched outfits, that’s what weaved the spell in the first place; and now he had forgotten all about that, just wanting to conquer every little corner of that part of her life he hadn’t even thought about before. He didn’t know why he was there anymore, what he was hoping to accomplish, since she showed no feeling; annoyance was all that her face expressed from the moment she opened the door. So why? And what? And how? He started feeling as though he was chocking with fear and shame.

When Paul arrived only a couple of minutes later, Amalia had to wonder whether he hadn’t been in front of her building all along, even when he called her. She barely had time to put on a pair of old jeans and a pink sweater, her face still flushed from the hot bath, her damp hair hanging on her shoulders, emanating the sweet smell of conditioner. Her opening the door like that, looking so natural and her image unencumbered by makeup and carefully chosen outfits had a strong impact on Paul’s imagination and audacity.

Her voice sounded cold and distant when inviting him to have a seat and quickly tell her what his visit was about, and her pretty face was devoid of the usual warm, friendly smile. But Paul wasn’t observant enough to wonder if by any chance that image she put on was nothing more than the socially acceptable mask for such situations; all he knew was that his determination was fading away quickly and he wanted to run away, so her piercing eyes wouldn’t drill any more pits of shame and uncertainty into his soul.

Theirs was the kind of security that can only be reached when two persons have no deep feelings for one another, yet they still choose to be together, to share a common part of their lives and not to ask for more than the other one is willing to offer unconditionally. Neither one of them wanted to say it out loud, but they were both aware that things would most likely continue in a similar manner, unless some tremendously unexpected event broke their routine; and Robert was already at the age when he knew for a fact that there was no room and no tolerance for such an event in his life. However, Amalia was still a variable, not always reliable, not always understanding or understandable, with plans, dreams and a future of her own yet to build, so he would sometimes catch himself being restless when she wouldn’t answer his calls or reach him in any other way for a longer period of time.

“Last time I saw her, we went to a concert. It was winter, freezing cold, and the concert was outside. Guess what band was playing! I envy you, you’re still at that age, when you can bear the cold of a winter day in the mountains just to be close to a particular person, because that’s all you need to make your blood boil.”

“I am? Was I ever at that kind of an age?”

He wasn’t listening to her.

“Then we went back to her place. Her parents were home, but they were sleeping, so we could easily sneak in. We sat next to the heaters and drank hot tea to warm up, then we made love. For the last time, as it turned out. She was quiet, which left room to start telling her how I wanted to leave my wife and have her live with me. The only thing she did was point to a ring on her finger. She was engaged, she said. She was engaged, after having given me this speech about not believing in marriage; she was engaged, and he had only proposed to her once; the very same woman who had turned me down so many times…”

“My daughter saw me crying. For the first time. I don’t know if she was scared or just disoriented.”

Robert turned up the volume. The sound of old rock music, songs of his youth, songs of her early childhood, covered everything else, the noise of the street, the noise of her thoughts, the noise of his sadness.

“He died, did you hear about it?”

Yes, Amalia had heard. She nodded her head, as in a moment of silence for the departed. It’s strange how silent sound can be, she thought. Yes, she had heard, but she hadn’t paid too much attention to the piece of news until he seemed to make such a great deal of it. The lead singer of an old, local group had died the previous evening. All the news programmes were featuring their greatest hits, people were sending flowers to unknown places and to strange persons, trying to express their regret; but the fact that he died a natural death was probably what shocked everybody the most. She liked their music, but not enough to see the point in a nation dramatically mourning his death. He wasn’t exactly in his prime, she was about to reply sarcastically, but she bit her tongue and stopped just in time. It wasn’t about the death of the old rocker. Robert was mourning his own death, his own mortality, and this had brought it all to surface.

She relished having sex with him, it was always an escape, a brief pause from the world. For the first time, she could have sex with a man just for the sake of the satisfaction it would offer both of them, without any emotional drama, without any feelings, frustration or guilt. She liked having sex with him, because he wouldn’t judge, because he wanted sex to be nothing more than pleasure, the same way she did, and because he was able to offer her more pleasure than the ones before him had managed to.